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by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel is assigned to start an adventure.





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxdeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxdeer/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for fox-deer’s “11. Treasure - Legolas/Glorfindel” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Walking the busy halls of Imladris, Glorfindel moves with deliberate grace and dignity—no one would know to look at him that he feels oddly miffed. Usually, when he returns from his patrol, he’s given time to rest, and he resumes his place as captain of the guards whenever it should suit him. With Imladris as full as it is, now hosting both Woodland and Lothlórien delegations, of course he expected some form of increased duty. But it was still something of a shock to dismount at the gates, only for Lord Elrond to inform him that he’ll be swiftly heading out again, escorting one of their guests.

Immediately swept away by Erestor, Elrond hadn’t had the time to inform Glorfindel of _who_ he would be playing soldier for, but it doesn’t really matter; unless it’s King Thranduil, Lady Galadriel, or Lord Celeborn, all of which would have their own contingent of guards, he doesn’t think this duty should befall him. He’s a _lord_ in his own right, and while he never likes to toss that title about, he also doesn’t want to forsake his captaincy for such inconsequential quests as escort missions.

He at least knows which quarters to visit, having gotten directions from Lindir, and he heads there now before anything else. He doesn’t even stop to change out of his riding gear. He wants to get this settled first, wants to know what fate he’s in for. He doesn’t even know where or why the guest is leaving.

The quarters he finally reaches are in the wing assigned to the Woodland Realm’s visitors, and that, at least, tells him something. He knows few of them, though he’s seen several and knows his share of names. He raps curtly on the door and stands there expectantly, until the door’s drawn open.

Prince Legolas stands on the other side, looking up at Glorfindel with wide, surprised blue eyes, clearer than any sky Glorfindel’s ever known. The beauty of them is astounding, and for a moment, Glorfindel is frozen still—he’s never been affixed with such a gaze. He’s known of Legolas’ beauty, of course, having seen him from afar on the rare occasion, but they’ve never been formally introduced. And he’s never dared look twice, for he knows King Thranduil well enough. But it seems he’ll soon have time to go far beyond introduction, far from Thranduil’s watchful eye.

Legolas glances over Glorfindel, then asks with a cute tilt of his head, “You are Lord Glorfindel, are you not? ...May I help you?”

“It seems I am to help you,” Glorfindel answers, before nodding over Legolas’ shoulder. Startled, Legolas steps back, and he pushes the door wide enough to allow Glorfindel entry.

As Glorfindel slips inside, Legolas closes the door behind him. The large room is as he remembers, having stopped in with guests here and there over the many years. The central chamber works as both bedroom and study, with an attached washroom off to the side and a wide balcony afforded to guests of importance. Legolas is certainly that. Glorfindel’s irritation has already subsided; he understands, of course, why a prince would need a guard, and not just any, but the _best_. He imagines Thranduil stipulated as much. 

On the bed is a small pack, the flap currently open a white blouse half tucked inside. In green tights and a silver tunic, Legolas looks as though he was just in the midst of packing, perhaps even dressing, though he isn’t indecent enough for Glorfindel to have to turn away. He’s grateful for that; Legolas is a lovely thing to look at. He comes to stand before Glorfindel and murmurs, “I must apologize, my lord. I had no wish to drag you from your home. But my father would not allow me to journey alone, and I consented to a guard of Lord Elrond’s choosing, for I had assumed it would be Estel.”

“Estel is traveling west,” Glorfindel explains. He has to hide a strange flicker in his chest, one that takes him a moment to identify as _jealousy_ —he had not idea that Lord Elrond’s ward, the heir to a family Glorfindel swore always to protect, was so close to Thranduil’s stunning son. If he had, he would’ve asked Estel to introduce him earlier. He concedes, “You may wait for him, if I will not do.”

At once, Legolas insists, “Not at all!” His fair cheeks take on a flushed pink, rosy and delectable. His handsome face is well accentuated by the white-golden hair that’s braided back from his eyes, cascading smoothly down his back. He has the sort of silken hair that servants would long to brush, and Glorfindel even finds himself wanting to braid it further. Perhaps on their journey, he’ll be given the opportunity. Legolas dips into a subtle bow, straightening again to say, “I would be honoured for your company. ...Though it would seem strange, for I think _I_ am the one that should be guarding _you_.”

Glorfindel lets out a charmed laugh, chiming, “Then I suggest we guard each other.”

Legolas nods happily, and Glorfindel takes that moment to survey him more carefully, not just for looks but strength—his body is lean, taut, and is likely well toned. The Woodland Realm breeds hardened warriors, even the ones not yet jaded. Legolas has the sort of open smile on his face that his father rarely bears, one that Glorfindel finds more endearing by the moment. 

He takes another step towards the bed, averting his gaze to the pack before he’s tempted beyond repair. He imagines Legolas has also procured food for the trip, or else they might visit the kitchens before departing. He doesn’t know what food lies ahead, and it reminds him to ask, “Where do you plan to go?”

“Troll country,” Legolas answers, which instantly draws Glorfindel’s gaze.

“Trolls? A rather dull hunt for an elf; they are slow as trees and less intelligent than rocks.”

“Yes,” Legolas laughs, “but they have gold. I have heard wondrous tales from the Men of Laketown involving the treasure of them, and this ‘treasure hunt,’ as Men call it, did catch my interest.”

“Forgive me, but surely a prince so beautiful as you could have no need for tainted Troll gold.”

Legolas’ smiles stretches wider, a gleam in his eye that seems to say that he doesn’t mind the compliment at all. He explains, “Perhaps not. But I know many in Laketown who could use such riches, and I believe the act of _hunting_ the treasure will be reward enough.” He pauses for a moment, while Glorfindel soaks in those words, then coyly adds, “And now, my company shall be the greater treasure still.”

There’s definitely a flirtatious glint in Legolas’ gaze now. It only matches Glorfindel’s own, though he’d had no intention, when he’d first heard of the Woodland delegation’s arrival, to court anyone at all. Certainly not a sweet prince from aging woods with a strange penchant for adventure. 

But he’s certainly interested. He has only one question left: “When will you leave?”

Legolas offers, “As soon as my lord would like.”

“In that case, would you allow me to escort you to the stables, my prince? My pack from the patrol will do for this, and I think I wish to start this before you might change your mind.”

Legolas reaches to straighten the pack, lifting the strap over one shoulder, and sighs pleasantly, “Then let us go.”


End file.
